I'll Stop the World and Melt With You
by Demon-Something
Summary: They all knew what they felt really wasn't acceptable to everyone around them. But hey, with a bit of pretending, everything could look okay and no one could notice, and they could go on with their dirty little secrets until... An 80's High School AU, Hansoff, Elsanna no incest
1. Keep Feeling Fascination

**_So yeah, this happened. Somehow it's an 80's High School AU, and here I am with like, no grasp of any character whatsoever. So please read and review. I could use the help._**

_Oh the powers that be,_

_that force us to live like we do,_

_Bring me to my knees when I see what they've done to you…_

"Hans, we're going to have to talk. Now."

Hans yanked off his Walkman headset, and turned around to find his father standing there, arms crossed, feet apart, and eyes that could kill. That wasn't the worrying part.

Kristoff stood next to him, with pursed lips and blank eyes, a general feeling of pained disorientation emanating from him.

Damn it.

**February 2nd, 1984 **

Chester G. Arendelle High School stood as a bastion of higher learning in Mecklenburg County, North Carolina. As one of the best public schools in the state, it was home to many opportunities, both athletic and academic, with 4A sports and one of the widest ranges of IB and AP courses available. Hans Westergard knew this, and he milked it.

Proud 2nd Basemen of the Arendelle Arrows baseball team, top 20 ranking in the class, and proud recipient of the Arendelle Articles newspaper's "Best Ride Award 1982-1983." Overall Big Man on Campus, and the effect was capped off by his regal good looks and his charming girlfriend, Anna Ostermann. Westergard was definitely going places. However, no one could say they knew him too closely…he just felt too schmooze-y and kind of arrogant. And there was something in him that no one could place...

Kristoff Bjorgman, on the other hand, was a bit of a different story. Lacking a high-flying stockbroker father complete with BMW, Kristoff remained largely to himself. While his grades were quite good, he just seemed to lack something to draw him out into the school. Everyone could say he was a cool guy, but after that, descriptions of him would always seem to taper off. He used to be normal, they'd say, until Elsa Westing broke up with him at the beginning of junior year. His brusque demeanor was a turn off to having close friends, and he was also known for his extremely unusual tendency to dress warmly no matter what part of the school year. While everyone could admit that yes, whoever controlled the school AC usually went overboard, sweaters in North Carolina in April seemed positively strange and uncomfortable.

Overall, they were both 17 year old juniors floating through high school. In fact, they both floated their way into the same English class, where they were both assigned the same English project, where they found themselves in the school courtyard, attempting to work during study hall.

"Okay," Hans started, trying to brush off the winter chill, "So first we're going to have to decide which role to take. Anna is the designated Gertrude, and Todd Wilson is the King. That leaves us Hamlet and Polonius."

"Let me guess, you're Hamlet," Kristoff said, with a tinge of derision, rolling his eyes. Their teacher was renowned for her class reenactments of Hamlet, the general bane for all non-actor students.

"No, you can be it if you want," Hans replied, a little weirded out by Kristoff's bitterness. He let it drop and read through the lines. Kristoff continued scowling, saying nothing, crunching his feet in the dead, brown grass. After a minute he looked up,

"So did you take it?" he asked accusingly.

"What? No!" Hans answered, "If you want it, _take it." _

Hans scoffed, angry at the verbal circle he was going in, "Are you going to sulk, or are we going to work?"

Kristoff scowled a little more.

"You know what, Kristoff, I'll be Polonius, okay? Will that make you happy?" Hans asked, sounding more than a little mothering.

Kristoff let out a groan, and stormed off.

"It was ridiculous," Hans complained, "I mean, we're assigned this, and he just will not cooperate!"

"Well, do you know what he wants?" Anna asked? These were the times when Hans felt like she didn't understand much of anything. Anna was a sunny girl, plain and simple. Her bright eyes radiated friendliness behind her oversized glasses. Her pixie cut just made her look more girlish than the opposite, and she always loved warm colors. This reflected on her all the way down to her day-glo orange Volvo. But for now, the two were at Wendy's, Anna daintily dipping fries into her Frosty as Hans complained through his burger.

"No, I don't! He got really pissed when I asked him if he wanted to Hamlet or Polonius for Ms. Peterson's Hamlet reading."

"Huh, that is odd. Maybe he…OH MICKEY YOU'RE SO FINE, YOU'RE SO FINE YOU BLOW MY MIND HEY MICKEY!"

Hans rolled his eyes. Anna never missed an opportunity to burst out into song.

"Let me guess, they were playing it on the speakers, weren't they?" He had no idea how Anna noticed the background music in places like these, but she managed.

"What, I really like that song," she explained.

Hans sighed. It looked like he would have to figure Kristoff out on his own and work on Hamlet outside school. Find out what was behind those mysterious blue eyes…

Hans tried to shake the poetic wording out of his head and focused back on Anna.

"So babe, do you still want to see a movie?"

"Not in the theaters, no. They're playing Flashdance at eight on TV.

It was her favorite movie. Hans didn't upturn his mouth at this fact, just looked straight at Anna. Sometimes Anna thought something was...strange about him, the same was she was strange. But he'd put his arm around her and he'd feel sincere.

Anna shot a quick look back at the counter, where Elsa Westing absentmindedly wiped down the counter. Elsa shot a quick look and a wan smile at Anna. Combined with the giggling when ordering, Anna's heart swooned. But he thought nothing, and she still kind of felt bad about it.

They would go back to Hans' house later that evening in his immaculate 5-Series BMW, a handed down car only six years old from his dad. They would go inside his wonderful old house in Meyers Park. He opened both the car and front doors, a perfect Southern gentleman. They'd sit in the living room, done up in slightly outdated, but nice Danish Modern furniture, and watch Flashdance at seven. They'd sit perfectly straight, with Hans' arm around her shoulder positioned perfectly crooked and somehow giving the impression he was trying too hard. It should have felt perfect, but it didn't. They were sitting too straight, a bit too far apart for it to feel right.

They were watching the scene where Jennifer Beals dumped water on herself when Hans' dad and brother came in. Hans visibly flinched, and Anna knew herself that good things weren't coming.

"Oh, hi Anna," Mr. Westergard said brusquely, "Hans, can I speak to you for a minute?"

Hans sighed and got up, palms facing outward, as if to ask for peace.

"Don't make those noises," his father snapped, and the two headed towards Mr. Westergard's study. His older brother, Jim, football star and all around scary guy, rolled his eyes.

"Here we go again. Don't know why you date that twerp, but hey, if you're down with it, I'm looking for a girl," Jim said, leering at Anna.

Anna scrunched her nose and sent a disgusted look in his direction, raising her hand to her chest. Jim shrugged and went towards his room, clomping up the stairs.

Anna was left dazed as she could hear the shouting from the study. What on Earth this was about, she didn't know. At least she had Elsa…

Kristoff quietly ate dinner with his parents, a jolly, short, rotund couple with dark hair. He shoveled meat loaf into his mouth without thinking, occasionally spooning in tomato soup.

"Kristoff, is something the matter?" his mother asked.

Kristoff grunted.

"Is it still about Elsa? Because there are other girls. You're a handsome kid, you know that?" his father continued, trying to cheer him up.

"No, I need to work on some stupid project and my partner's a jerk," Kristoff replied, still looking down into his food.

"What did he do?" his mother asked.

"I just knew he was trying to take all the best roles for himself for our Hamlet thing. We all broke up into a whole bunch of rotating groups, and he was always Hamlet. It feels so childish, but he already has everything he wants anyway. Nice car, pretty girl, pretty face...well, of his girlfriend," he stammered.

"Well, you shouldn't let this get in the way of your grades," his mother replied gently, "Just do what you need to for the best grade."

Kristoff's father was deep in thought. It didn't feel like Kristoff to be so surly over someone…

Later, Kristoff seemed to forget about it, petting the dog, Sven, as he watched TV, his homework already done. However, you couldn't help but thing something big was up, he thought.

The next day was crisp and clear, with intense blue winter skies and a happy mood amongst the school. Ms. Peterson's AP English class was no exception, as one group finished their scene from Hamlet.

"That was a good job," she said, "so that means your group is left Hans."

Hans froze. Anna and Todd had their lines done, but not Kristoff and himself.

"Well, uh…"

Ms. Peterson sighed, "Well, you can do it next class, and still get full credit, but there are no exceptions."

She walked away and Kristoff approached him in the hall leaving class.

Well, you heard her. We're going to have to do this. You can be Hamlet," Kristoff conceded, more concerned with getting the proper grade.

"So," Hans said, "We'll have to work at home. Your place or mine?"

"Well, uh, I guess mine," Kristoff said.

Hans' eyes perked up, "Good. I'll need to do some math homework so I'll see you at 5:30."

"Do you want a ride?" Kristoff asked, "My place is tricky to get to."

"Yeah, sure. See you then."

Kristoff parked in front of the Westergard household and felt very, very inadequate. A gleaming green BMW sat in the driveway, with the Bermuda grass lawn looking enticingly green and soft. Hans walked out, closed the door behind him, and got in Kristoff's beat up station wagon.

"Hey," Kristoff pointed towards the BMW, "Your Dad has a nice car."

"Actually, that's mine," Hans said, more than a bit of pride slipping into his voice, "Dad has a newer model, so he gave that one to me."

"Well, mine has an 8-Track player," Kristoff said, as if to admit defeat. To cap the effect off, he grabbed a random tape from the backseat and put it in. I Feel Love immediately began playing. Hans looked unimpressed.

"Donna Summer?"

"It was my Mom's old tape."

Two hours later, the two finished up the last touches on their parts of the scene, and had resorted to reenacting the fateful duel at the end with a broom and mop respectively.

"And finally, I avenge my crazy sister!" Hans said, thrusting the head of the mop into Kristoff's face.

"Please don't. I know we need to do this for English, but it's just not funny."

Kristoff's mom poked in the door, "Kristoff, it's so nice that you finally bring friends home!" She turned to Hans, "He hasn't done that or a while, and I know he's getting older, but still. My, you must have no problem with the girls, just look at that face. Y'know, I think Kristoff mentioned that at dinner…"

Kristoff quickly cut off his mother, who now was pinching Hans' cheeks, the mop he was holding having clattered to the floor, "Mom! Stop. Now. We're not friends."

"Well, you're certainly friendly at least," Hans quipped.

"He's right," Mrs. Bjorgman said, crossing her arms, "You shouldn't be so angry. I'll leave you two to what you were doing."

Kristoff scratched his back and apologized sheepishly, Sorry, she's kind of a hands-on, gusher kind of person."

Hans didn't mind, and in fact, had adopted a stupid, irritating smirk.

"Y'know, you haven't been that friendly to me. Come on, what did I do to you?"

"Huh?"

"What did I do to you? You've been very angry to me," Hans pouted.

"Well, for starters, you're an arrogant prick," Kristoff quipped.

Hans pretended to look shocked, "Well, Kristoff, that just part of the charm. But really, you've been very uncooperative," Hans said, stepping a little closer to Kristoff.

Kristoff flinched at Hans' intrusion into his space, and flustered a little.

"Well, uh, I, like, well...I don't know, okay Hans."

Hans' smirk grew larger with the admission of defeat of Kristoff's part, "Why Kristoff, that's not very nice. But...I think we can get past that. Do you wanna just hang for a bit? Mom and Dad don't want me back until nine."

"Uh...sure."

And that's how Kristoff and Hans found themselves shooting hoops in Kristoff's driveway, Kristoff's Delta 88 wagon parked off on the lawn.

"So," Hans exhaled, as he took a shot, "You don't look like your parents."

The ball hit the rim and Kristoff caught it.

"Well, I'm actually adopted," he said as he shot. The ball swished in.

"Oh, well, that's interesting," Hans said, "So no siblings?"

Kristoff shot again, a miss. Hans caught the ball.

"Nope. And you?"

Hans shot, bouncing neatly off the square and into the basket.

"Three older brothers. You know Jim, he's a senior. James and Chad are both at Duke."

"Oh, yeah, Jim," Kristoff said, dribbling the ball. He passed it to Hans.

"Yeah, that's what everyone says. I don't like him either."

"Do you like me Kristoff, I'm trying here?" Hans said. Deep down, he really wanted to impress Kristoff,and he didn't know why.

"Uh, sure, I guess," Kristoff said, put back by the directness, "You're not a complete asswipe like I thought."

Hans dropped the ball and grimaced as he picked it back up, "Yeow, that stung. IS that really what you think of me?"

"Hans, you drive a BMW."

Hans fired off the ball for a another basket, dribbling over to the left side of the driveway for a different shot, "Hmm, point taken."

"But I didn't mean like that. I don't hate you, you're cool." The platitudes spilled out of Kristoff's mouth as he realized that he really had insulted Hans.

Hans smiled, "It's okay, Kristoff, no harm taken. We should do this again."

"We should," Kristoff agreed.

The two said their goodbyes, and as Hans departed, Kristoff decided he really wanted to get to know Hans better, and he didn't quite know why.


	2. Your Imagination

**After a long period, here's Chapter Two. Hopefully you enjoy, especially because I think it turned out much better than Chapter One. Many thanks to Quillinx for beta-ing.**

**February 6, 1984**

Anna, Hans, Kristoff, and that weird Todd guy took their seats. Their enactment of the duel scene from Hamlet had went swimmingly, a surefire A.

"That was wonderful you guys. Kristoff and Hans, that was a great mock duel. You both seem to work very well with each other," Ms. Peterson said, happy that the project had turned out nicely

Anna watched as Hans' cheeks reddened slightly from the compliment. This was just getting more and more interesting to her. She took out her notebook as Ms. Peterson began talking about their next book. However, since Anna had already read A Streetcar Named Desire in middle school, she penned a note in pink gel pen

_Elsa,_

_ I hope your day is going great, and that I'll see you soon. Hopefully we can go shopping at Eastland Mall and get to spend some quality girl time tomorrow afternoon. You're flush with cash from Wendy's, so you can't complain your way out of this this time. Hoping to see you soon and thinking of you,_

_Anna_

Anna wished that she didn't have to be so guarded in her notes as she slipped the note into the slats in Elsa's locker. But hey, someone might notice, and you really had to be careful. She heard what her pastor said each Sunday, and saw how her parents nodded. You had to be careful. But Elsa definitely made the charade worth it. Speaking of charades…

"Hey Anna," Hans said casually. He slipped next to Anna and they both began to walk towards Anna's next class, "We did great in English didn't we?"

"We did. So you worked out the lines with Kristoff?"

"Yeah. He's actually a pretty good guy, we're probably gonna hang out soon," Anna noticed the surge in enthusiasm in his voice. Could it possibly be? Hans continued, his voice dropping back into the detached, "Want to go to the movies tomorrow?"

Anna felt a surge of embarrassing warmth rush to her face. She hunched her shoulders awkwardly, "No, um, I'm busy. My parents want to spend time with me," Anna replied, her words coming out perhaps a little too quickly.

"Well, okay, I guess," Hans said. He didn't seem too disappointed, "Well, here's your Physics class, and I'll see you later Anna."

Anna felt like a normal couple would maybe have a kiss on the cheek or hold hands or...something emotional. But Hans felt distant...not that she minded or anything, that was the point, _But still_, she thought,_ if he really liked me, he would show it. He barely kisses me, barely touches me even, and doesn't feel angry when I can't be with him. He has to like me, we've been together since freshman year._

He had been like that even before Anna figured out she liked Elsa, and only her. But he hadn't seemed to change. He had no suspicions whatsoever. _Maybe he's gay himself? _ No, that couldn't possibly be it, he didn't really seem like it. He didn't act too strangely around other guys, the same way she got flustered and giggly around Elsa. But still, he didn't make sense in the slightest. He always had that involved, cocky tone, like he could read and be comfortable with everyone around him. But at the very mention of Kristoff...

The bell rang, snapping Anna out of her analysis and towards her notes. She groaned, now having the much worse foe of Physics to deal with.

That afternoon, at the end of the day, Hans walked out towards the parking lot, and spied Kristoff out of the corner of his eye, in a very bulky looking navy sweater. He was slinging his pack into the backseat of that stupid monstrous wagon of his, (Oh dear god, it has wood paneling…) with the engine on. Hans raised his arm for a wave and put on a smile,

"Hey Kris! Can I call you Kris?" he asked, an almost uncomfortable amount of prideful, forced joviality coming through his voice.

Kristoff looked taken aback and a little stiff. He whirled around to face Hans.

"Um, no, just Kristoff, Hans," he said softly.

"Why not?"

"There are already nine Chrises in our class," he explained gruffly.

"Okay, fine then," Hans said defensively, "Just wanted to know if you wanted to hang today. I mean, I got that U2 album on cassette and a bag of powdered donuts."

Kristoff pondered the offer, looking more serious than he probably should for the situation. Finally he answered,

"Eh, okay. I don't really have any homework today."

"Awesome. Just follow me to my place."

Hans lived only a few minutes from Chester Arendelle High, so soon the two found themselves in Hans' room, Kristoff lying on the floor, arm on a raised knee, with Hans sitting on his bed, errantly bouncing a tennis ball. True to his word, Sunday Bloody Sunday played through the speakers of Hans' boom box, the sound providing a beat for Hans to bounce his ball to. Kristoff was pleasantly surprised at how casual this moment felt. There should have been that twinge of awkwardness navigating a strange house, that strange quality other houses had that made the air seem dry and uncomfortable. But here in Hans' room, Kristoff felt very much at ease.

"So," Kristoff said, Where's Jim?"

"Jim," Hans said dismissively, "is at football practice, and thank God."

"You don't like him?"

**July 12, 1973**

_Six year old Hans sat in the backyard with his hands in the dirt. A few ladybugs were crawling around, and Hans was eager to find more, his youthful fascination with bugs eager to find whatever the soil of his lawn would dig up. Suddenly, he found himself tumbling over in an uncomfortable somersault, until his head impacted the dirt and his legs bent in an uncomfortable position._

"_Ha, get the little weiner," he heard John shout, and two thuds on top of him indicated that his two other brothers were on top of him. But Hans couldn't figure that out after that first perilous shock, that to a six year, was this quick frisson into contorted pain._

"_Help. Help. HELP!" he yelled, as bigger stronger arms reached out all over him. His face was in the dirt, and he could taste it along with the grass in his mouth, his tongue lapping in some vain attempt to keep the earth away from him. His arms were pinned now, with someone- Chad's?- bulk on his back, keeping him firmly pinned to the ground. His legs were wildly flailing until another of his brothers kicked his shin. Hans cried out in pain._

"_God Hans, toughen up a little, why don't you?" John taunted, and Hans could also hear Jim laugh cruelly behind John's voice._

"_Hah, look him cry, like a girl," Jim teased, and all three got a good laugh at that. Hans realized that yes, tears were beginning to flow out of his eyes. He just wanted out. Out. OUT...out.'_

_Hans' body went slack. He couldn't flight against them, it really wasn't any use. He let his brothers pound his back and pull his hair, stupid apes unable to see the blood ties with him. He felt the sole of a sneaker scrape across the back of his calf, eliciting a soft groan from Hans. He tried to turn his head to the left, but couldn't, Chad's knee was pinning his neck. Hans let the blows rain down on him, mostly feeling sorry for himself at this rate and crying. Finally, after what felt like ages, he heard his mother's voice,_

"_Boys, ENOUGH!" the roar she let out was disproportionate to her petite frame and neat, stylish dress. The boys quickly clambered off, shamed and meek looking, despite the looks in their eyes, more reminiscent of the devil's imps than anything else._

"_All three of you, go inside, get washed up , and go to your rooms. Your father will speak to you when you get home."_

_The three older Westergard boys had flippant expressions as they went towards the back stairs, casually laughing and errantly mentioning last night's Star Trek rerun. Mrs. Westergard gave them a scowl, and they quickly darted inside._

_She picked up her skirt and rushed over to Hans, who hadn't bothered to get up in his self-pity and sadness. Mrs. Westergard picked him up and sat him down on the grass. The tussle had left patches of exposed soil where the grass had been ripped out, looking almost like craters in an immense battle of wills. Hans himself had blood pooling in a scrape on his left calf, and his T-shirt and jeans were covered in grimy grass stains, big and brightly green-brown enough for Mrs. Westergard to know that they weren't coming out no matter what number of washings she would attempt. The T-shirt itself was ripped at the hem, and would probably have to be thrown out. Hans' face resembled that of a chipped sculpture of a cherubim, his cheeks scratched up and red, his hair tangled with grass and dirt strewn throughout, his sad eyes still wet with welling tears. Blood dripped from his nose, his head must have been slammed down at some point. Mrs. Westergard felt an extreme disgust for her own sons, in that they would gang up on their own like that._

"_Hans, are you okay?" she asked._

_Hans wiped a tear from his eye, "Fine," he sniffed._

"_You don't sound it," she said sympathetically. _

_She took her hand in Hans' and helped him up. She led him up the back stairs and into the kitchen. To their left, the three older brothers were watching TV._

"_And today in world news, a Brazilian 707 crashed on landing on approach to Paris. Only one passenger is reported alive, along with ten crew after an in-flight fire…"_

_The brothers remained blissfully unaware of Hans and their mother's orders as the TV flickered. Mrs. Westergard's face twisted into one of shock and disgust._

_Didn't I tell you to go to your rooms?" she shouted, "This is completely unacceptable!" She stormed over and unplugged the TV, "Go to your rooms. NOW! I hope you think about what you did today."_

_The three boys grumbled and started to slowly make their way upstairs._

"_No complaining," Mrs. Westergard said firmly. The three boys took notice of her steely tone and scurried upstairs to temporary refuge until their father got home._

_She turned back to Hans and her eyes softened._

"_I'm so sorry they did this to you," she said as she reached into a top cabinet. She took out a bandage, and placed it on his calf. _

"_I can't believe just how rowdy they can be sometimes," she wetted down a paper towel and wiped off Hans' face and arms._

"_Why would they tackle me?" Hans asked softly._

_His mother sighed, "I don't know Hans, I just don't know. What I can say is that you should forgive them later," She finished wiping him off, "Now go change up, and give me that shirt, okay."_

"No, not really," Hans said, attempting to sound casual, but sounding forced instead. Kristoff raised an eyebrow as Sunday Bloody Sunday ended and Seconds began. Kristoff backed away from the topic of Jim, knowing when family stuff was sensitive.

"So, what does your dad do?"

"Oh, he's a stockbroker Uptown. Big office on Tryon Street, the whole works," Hans said, a bit of bitterness leaching into his voice.

"Does your mom work?"

Hans flinched. Kristoff's face blanched, and he furrowed his brows, figuring he'd hit another source of pain for the handsome auburn haired boy next to him...well, he supposed he was handsome in, y'know, other people's eyes.

"She's...not around," Hans looked away and into the radiator on the opposite wall, a melancholy look evident in his face.

"Oh, dude, sorry for your loss," Kristoff stammered, scratching his back errantly, biting his lip nervously.

Hans noticed that Kristoff scratched his back again. Funny, he seemed to do that a lot, and it seemed...endearing.

"Oh, no man. She's alive, she just...not here."

"Oh, so she's just out?" Kristoff asked, a look of relief flooding his face.

Hans sighed, and put his face in his hands, "No Kristoff, my parents are divorced," he said, sounding more sad than exasperated. Kristoff backed away, guessing the wounds were still fresh in Hans' mind. However, he noticed his hair as Hans held his head in his hands. It was this nice reddish color… he hadn't really noticed before...because it wasn't important. Yeah, totally not important.

"Well," Kristoff began, but quickly trailed off.

"It's okay, it's not your fault. And I'm going to assume your parents are gainfully employed?" Hans said, returning to a more normal, relaxed tone of voice as he straightened back up in his bed.

"Well, my mom stays home, but my Dad runs Bjorgman's AC Emporium. You might have seen the commercials?"

"Oh, the ones with the giant snowman?"

"...That was me."

Hans' eyes widened, "That's harsh."

"They called me Marshmellow all through middle school," Kristoff reminisced, seemingly unfazed by the situation.

"So that doesn't bother you? At all?" Hans asked incredulously.

"Nope."

Hans raised his eyebrows in a gesture of respect, "You are a strong man Kristoff. Stronger than me, that's for sure," he flattered.

Kristoff visibly blushed. He really appreciated that coming from Hans...y'know, like anyone else. Hans let out a chuckle at Kristoff's red face, it was surprisingly...adorable.

The two chatted on, long after Hans' cassette of War ended.

Elsa shook her hands in frustration as she walked out the back door of Wendy's. She was just so, _so _glad to be off work early today. Anna was already parked out back idling her rusty orange Volvo. Elsa sighed in relief knowing that she'd at least have someone to talk to, and ran over to the car. She opened the passenger door and was buckled before Anna could blink.

"Well, someone's happy to be off work early," Anna guessed, "Was your manager being a bitch again?"

"I swear to God, there is something about fryers that brings out the worst in that lady. I mean really, I run into her at the grocery store and she's super nice, but she sees a spot of grease that someone else made and she goes crazy."

Anna shook her head and lowered her eyes in solidarity, "Kitchens. They're tight-run, but cruel ships. Anything else go horribly wrong today?"

Elsa sighed again as Anna shifted the car out of park, "Geez, Moms should not let their kids order when they don't have the mental faculties to say what they want. This one lady actually made me scrape off the mustard on a burger in front of her child when he didn't say he didn't want mustard…"

Elsa knew Anna wasn't listening already. The radio was playing Hall and Oates, and Anna loved them. Elsa leaned against the window as Anna bobbed her head to I Can't Go For That and sighed again. At least Anna was happy. Anna was at her best when she was happy and cheerful, and even though she just tuned her out entirely, it was still somehow impossible to hate her. Hate and Anna just didn't go together, Elsa concluded, and moved her hand over to meet Anna's on the shifter. Anna let Elsa keep her hand on top of hers, with Elsa giving her arm slack as Anna downshifted for a red light. Elsa looked out the window. No cars behind or alongside them. She shifted her body and leaned against Anna.

Despite the fact that Elsa felt, and basically was, kind of gross in her post-shift Wendy's uniform. Anna let out a sigh of contentment. Elsa's ears perked up, it was nice to know that somehow she could elicit those noises out of someone, unlike with Kristoff where'd they'd both been so distant with each other. The fact someone could draw her out of her shell was so amazing, the fact she was with Anna, who made everything in life beautiful and good was truly astounding.

Anna swatted Elsa's hand off hers, and accelerated from the stoplight with a few protesting rattles from the beat-up Volvo.

"Elsa," she began, "Do you think Hans might be gay?"

Elsa frowned, she hated how Anna always tried to justify her relationship with Hans, caring about him as she cheated on him with another girl. If this was another way of rationalizing her guilt…

"Anna, if you don't want to lead him on, just dump him already. No one's going to think twice about it," Elsa said, her lecturing and exasperated tone not making the idea appealing to Anna.

"No, my parents might get suspicious, and what if Hans asks why? I can't just say 'Oh, I'm in a lovely lesbian love affair, and have been for seven months.' My parents could find out, and they'd freak, and their pastor would freak, and they'd all think I was freak because I kind of am a freak!" Anna's tone had become increasingly manic with each utterance of freak, and Elsa didn't like it.

"Anna, your parents will love you no matter what, and who cares what everyone else says, right?" God, it was just so annoying dealing with Anna sometimes. It was like she just didn't want to face the music and admit she and Elsa were together. A couple. With each other. No one else, goddamnit.

"No, my parents aren't artsy like yours. I mean, they don't work at the university and they don't teach seminars on 'mind-opening.' I just can't do it Elsa!" Of course she couldn't. Elsa knew that, and on top of that Anna was right about both of their parents. Elsa was blessed with the ability to be open with her parents, and Anna...well, she didn't get that. It was Anna's cross to bear, not hers', and she shouldn't act otherwise.

And that was that. The ride was spent in solemn quiet from that part on, the only sounds being the soft squawking of an AM radio and the clattering grunts of the engine.

Anna pulled on to Elsa's street, and parked in Elsa's driveway, throwing the car into park and leaving the engine rumbling.

"I'll see you tomorrow for the mall, Elsa. We need to spend some more girl time when you aren't at work," a mischievous smile creeping on to Anna's face along with a twinkle in her eye. Elsa cracked a smile herself.

"Yes, Anna, some girl time sounds awesome."

**Feburary 22, 1984**

While winter in North Carolina wasn't a severe affair, temperatures had risen by a solid ten degrees, thawing everyone out of their coats into lighter jackets and sweaters on this crisp, brilliant, sunny morning. However, Hans noticed that Kristoff remained as bundled up as he was during the last snowfall. It was such a weird thing about him that Hans just didn't quite get. Didn't he get hot? But still, he had nice sweaters, and they looked pretty good on him, so…

Anna suddenly appeared behind him, like a sunbeam suddenly striking from out behind a cloud. Hans let out a startled gasp and spun around. Anna giggled.

"What'cha doing, Hans?"

Hans at this point realized he was watching Kristoff pick his backpack up from his backseat. Bent over.

"Uh...just enjoying the weather," Hans said, responding too quickly to hide the defensive tone in his voice.

Anna figured out the trajectory of Hans' eyes from a few minutes ago.

"Yeah, it's nice isn't it," she said, spying Kristoff closing his car door. Hmm, so that was the deal, huh.

"So, should we head to class?" Anna continued, smiling even brighter knowing that her suspicions were now valid.

"Sure," Hans said. Anna linked arms with him and dragged him from the parking lot practically skipping the whole way. Hans wondered what put her in such a good mood, but Anna really knew why he was blushing.

Anna slid into the lunch table so fast she almost had to grab her lunch box from sliding away, surprising Elsa.

"OHMYGODELSAYOUAREN'TGOINGTOBELIEVEWHATISAWTHISMORNING!" she spat out, at a decibel level somehow higher than the ambient noise of a high school cafeteria, a feat Elsa did not think physically possible.

"Um...okay. What did you see, Anna?" Elsa asked, a little stunned from the shouting.

Anna leaned in close across the table. Elsa tilted her head so Anna could cup her hand around Elsa's left ear. Anna's face beamed with pure excitement. Elsa waited for Anna to speak with a quizzical expression on her face. Finally, after ten seconds of rapid breathing, Anna whispered,

"I totally saw Hans check out Kristoff's butt."

Elsa furrowed her brows, "Really Anna, I thought we'd gotten past this. Your kind-of boyfriend and my ex are not gay for each other."

"Oh come on, Elsa," Anna argued, stomping her foot, "I just...get those feelings from Hans, y'know, like I did with you."

Elsa sighed and sat back up straight. She took a bite of her sandwich, swallowed, and sighed again, Anna following for each second.

"Okay, okay," she finally acquiesced, "We'll talk about this later...but just not in public, okay Anna? People could hear us."

"Okay, well, more importantly, how was art class?"

Elsa relaxed at the safer topic, and took out her large pad of Bristol Board, "I'm working on this pencil sketch in Art. Ms. McBride loves it so far," Elsa held up the specified piece of Bristol Board, revealing a shot of Uptown, "It really isn't perfect, because since I don't have the time to sit on Tryon Street and draw all the details of each building, so I just took a photograph. But still, it's one of the best things I've drawn in a while."

"Really Elsa, it's gorgeous. Didn't you want to be an architect?"

"Yes," Elsa answered, and began a rapid fire of information, "That's why I really focused on the composition of the shapes. I think architecture is an art because you really have arrange positive and negative space incredibly well, or else you end up with one of those houses that just kind of feels dark and claustrophobic. Then somehow, there needs to be a synergy between the exterior and the interior lest the elements on the interior form a shape that leads to an awful facade. There has to be that balance."

"That's really cool," Anna said, not quite comprehending the terms Elsa used in the first place. But hey, Elsa was pretty when she talked architecture. There was just something in the way she talked, how she looked, so authoritative, yet calm. So...in charge. _Damn, I really do love her. _

"So, um yeah," Elsa, "Architecture's pretty radical," she gave a sheepish grin, "But I was over your head, wasn't I?"

Anna grinned back, "Yeah, just a little bit."

Elsa raised an eyebrow and a milk carton, "Just a little bit?"

Anna shrugged, "Okay, a lot. But I like it when you talk architecture."

"Really then? I'm impressed."

**Feburary 25, 1984**

Kristoff finally packed away the last of his notebooks into his backpack; US History homework was done. Since it was Friday, Mr. and Mrs. Bjorgman insisted on going out to dinner "as a family." Normally, this meant a trip for hot dogs at the Tastee Freeze, but sales of HVAC systems had been pretty good for the last few months. So the three Bjorgmans piled into Dad's Dodge Aries and went for a nice, sit-down Italian place close by.

"So, Kristoff, do you have any plans for the weekend?" Kristoff's father asked, "Anything with Hans?"

That was such an innocuous question. So why did Kristoff get a lump in his throat hearing that?

"Um, not really. I'm working on a big paper about Reconstruction, so I don't have time lately."

"Okay then," he said nonchalantly, "Just was happy that you've had a good friend the past few weeks."

Oh yes, I like him enough I suppose," Mrs. Bjorgman butted in, "But he's a little too sure of himself."

Mr. Bjorgman let out a chuckle behind the wheel, "Don't worry Sarah, they're all like that at their age. I remember when I was quite the handful too, y'know."

"I remember, that was when you were handsome," his wife gushed, reaching over to pinch his cheek, and Kristoff rolled his eyes at the scene before him. But Kristoff couldn't quite swallow that lump in his throat, and he didn't know why he had it in the first place.

That same lump seemed to stick in Kristoff's throat all throughout dinner, no matter how much of his Coke he sucked down, or how much his parents talked about work or Bills scores. He sat there, looking at the tabletop, shifting uncomfortably in the red vinyl booth, tapping his feet, twiddling his fingers rapidly.

Mrs. Bjorgman looked over at her nervous looking son, "Kristoff, is everything okay?"

For a few seconds, Kristoff didn't even comprehend that he was being spoken to, looking downward at his hands instead while swallowing.

"Oh...um, yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired and impatient for my food, y'know?" he finally spat out, looking even more unnerved that his mother had even asked.

"Son, if there's something on your mind…" his father began, but Kristoff quickly cut him off.

"Look, I really don't know why. It's not you, it's just...something," he said his voice trailing off. He bit his lip and looked back down.

"I just don't feel like talking right now, okay. I'm sorry," he concluded softly.

Mr. and Mrs. Bjorgman remained silent about Kristoff's sullenness, and Kristoff himself remained dead silent, trapped in what looked like deep thought. Even after their food came, Kristoff barely ate, preffering instead to hold his head in his hand as he used his other to errantly twirl spaghetti on his fork, meatballs knocked off to one side. Finally, he got the realization about earlier. He sprung up and walked briskly towards the restrooms, turning a corner around another row of booths and finally yanked open the door of his target and locked himself inside. There was only a single toilet in the men's room, so Kristoff didn't have to worry about anyone coming in. He turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face, only now daring to even think what he was suspecting.

He had only felt as nervous and moody when only one other person was mentioned: Elsa.

And God, he had loved her. She had been so elegant and graceful in all situations, a great dancer at homecoming, a great conversationalist with his parents, the neatest handwriting out of anyone, and a keeper of secrets. The girl was even a monument to poise when working at goddamned Wendy's! And on top of that, she was pretty and blonde, and dressed nicely.

How could he think that about...the pause came naturally, Kristoff unwilling to reconcile his instinct with his rational mind...Hans. Kristoff had seen homosexuals on TV, they were wimpy, they were victims, they caught strange cancers and GRID [1] and died. That wasn't him, he was tough. He survived eight years of foster care, and they were...what were they anyway? How was a queer made? Were they born with limp wrists and a passion for interior decoration? Or were they made? Did Mom or Dad screw up to the point where one day, you'd just notice the rich auburn hair, that stupid preppy sweater-around-the-neck thing that was somehow cute, the overconfident smile, and the hint of just a bit of strength under his shirtsleeves…

_No, don't think that! Don't think it don'tthinkit DON'T THINK IT! DON'T THINK IT! _Kristoff cried to himself desperately. He wasn't gay, just a late bloomer. Girls never liked it when guys were too forward, that's why he barely ever kissed Elsa. _But shouldn't you have wanted it just a little more? NO, STOP, DON'T THINK IT!_

'Don't think it' soon became a mantra in Kristoff's head, but all he could see was just Hans' face. That face, with his eyes green as the pines, perfect cheekbones, downturned nose the envy of plastic surgeons, his wry but enticing lips. His stupid perfect handsome face. Reaching for it, sliding his hands down to Hans' shoulders, just like he thought he'd do with Elsa at first, pulling him in close, and…

"DON'T THINK IT!" Kristoff screamed at the mirror, his arms raised above his head as if he was asking for salvation and damnation at the same time, resulting in a pose that reminded him of a monster. A revolting, unnatural, sick faggot monster. Kristoff quickly spun on his heels away from the bathroom mirror, pushed open the door, ignoring the concerned face of a man waiting for the restroom, and back to his table.

For the rest of dinner, he withered under his parents, knowing that deep down, so deep they didn't know themselves just as he hadn't known, his...secrets. The car ride home was a blur, Kristoff unable to even say what he was to himself. Strange, unnatural, disgusting, faggot, queer…

Gay.

Somehow, he mumbled a goodnight to his parents inside the house, slinked up the stairs, ignored the wagging tail of Sven, and flopped face-first on to his bed. He would fall asleep like that fully clothed, silent and face-down on his pillow, unable to see himself.

Hans cracked open another beer, it was Friday night, he had no homework, so definitely time to let loose. Some of his friends and him had shown up at the Weselton brothers' house and since their parents were out (and already lax in the booze department,) it was definitely time to shoot the breeze. Anna was invited, but declined to go see Footloose with Elsa. So all the more for Hans. He took a first swig, grimaced, and swallowed.

"Hey, man, you must not do this much, huh?" one of the brothers said, Barry, the one with the facial hair. It was true, Hans never could sneak out much until this year. Way too far under Dad's thumb…

"No, not really," Hans said. He took a second gulp from the can hoping for a different result. Nothing changed. He sighed.

He didn't quite know why he had bothered to come. He was everyone's school friend; you talked to him about teachers, assignments, cars, music, all of that small talk. You caught up with him and gossiped about everyone else in the class. This...was actually kind of boring. Stupid adolescents thinking on the short term, getting intoxicated so they could lack the judgemental abilities to do all the stupid things they thought they were supposed to do. Todd Wilson was wearing a fucking lampshade on his head, dork. Already inebriated seniors were pinching girls butts. They giggled in return. Disgusting. So far, no one had retreated to any rooms upstairs, but any minute now...oh, and there the first two went, Jennifer-from-Chemistry-last-year and Larry, Barry's younger brother. The losers were probably thinking they were being subtle, even.

Hans took another swig, and quickly forced the remaining contents of the can down his throat. The vile taste gave him that cold, shuddering, queasy feeling, but he kept it down, which was good, because he was probably going to need it as they were already playing Depeche Mode. _You've got to be shitting me. _

As the first teens started awkwardly squirming to Just Can't Get Enough, Hans grabbed another beer from the cooler. He knew he shouldn't drink too much, too fast, but he was probably going to leave soon anyway. He took his loot into a corner recliner and reclined the seat. If this was going to be a complete production, he was going to be comfy in the front row.

Minutes passed. Hans finished off the second beer, which went down a little easier than the first. Barry walked over, clicking his tongue and pointing his fingers, just tipsy enough to look it.

"Hey, man," he drawled, "What'cha doin' here? We got girls man!"

"Remember that nice girl, Anna Ostermann?" Hans replied sardonically. Barry nodded his head, as if he were comprehending new information, "What is her position in my life called?"

"She's your girlfriend, dude, relax," Barry responded, sounding unamused with Hans' smartassery, "Not that we could tell or anything," he retorted.

"The fuck do you mean?" Hans asked, getting a little angry.

"Let me know when you hold her goddamn hand already. You two are barely near each other, so she isn't going to know. Look, Jennifer already said she was digging you…"

Hans interrupted, "She already went upstairs. With your brother."

Barry paused for a moment, squinting his eyes in thought and shaking his head.

"Well, never mind. But dude, you're so uptight. Just get some, why dont'cha?" Barry walked off, leaving Hans in his corner.

He was so glad Anna didn't come. This was just a festival of stupid. Other partygoers shouted hey or asked for a dance, but Hans ignored them. He had started to feel the two beers, and he felt warmer and a bit happier. _You know who I really wish was here: Kristoff. Yeah, Kristoff. He'd hate these stupid fuckers too. He doesn't go for any bullshit, it's kinda sexy. That, and his hair. I like his hair, and his… wait a minute. He's not supposed to be sexy, is he? Fuck it, I'm mildly drunk. Anna's sexy too. She's got red hair and stuff, she's pretty. And nice. And smart. And stuff. What does Kristoff have that she doesn't? He's only got sexy hair, and a sexy face, and like nice arms and shit. Anna has boobs. But dude, that's like three to one. He wins._

Hans' eyes widened. Wait a sec, he was a guy. That was actually gay. He was saying actually gay things about Kristoff. _Fuck, this night really is shit. Let's just go home._

He was going to deal with stupid gay thoughts once he was sober again. He pushed his legs down and the seat lurched back into its upright position with a creak. He got up, pushed his way through the throngs of people, ignoring the "Heys" and other indignations from the partygoers. He opened the door, closed it behind him, and went out into the crisp night. Suddenly, he remembered his thoughts from earlier.

He had just ranked Kristoff hotter than his girlfriend. That was actually gay. He was thinking gay thoughts. _Come on, Kristoff isn't sexy, I mean come on, he's a guy. What do guys do that's sexy? _Hans immediately got a vision of Kristoff smirking, his sweater bending as he flexed the stiffness out of his arms, hinting at muscle underneath, his face beckoning for...more.

"Fuck," Hans whispered to himself.

**[1] GRID- Short for Gay Related Immune Deficiency, an early name for AIDS before the discovery of the HIV virus.**


End file.
